


fall back, i'll catch you

by winchesters



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: dumb french hunks, enjolras has social anxiety, tw for anxiety, tw for panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesters/pseuds/winchesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre helps Enjolras through a panic attack. </p><p>Short and fluffy bc I am a massive dork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fall back, i'll catch you

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I've had a few panic attacks in my life but unfortunately I have never had a Combeferre present to coach me through them. I have, however, helped several of my friends deal with panic attacks in the past (including one memorable night in the remote Washington wilderness) so this is just going off of my wilderness first aid training and personal experience.
> 
> You're all wonderful and lovely, thanks for reading. :)))

It always starts the same: the hot flush creeping up his neck, his throat closing, the edges of his vision blurring. And then suddenly he can’t breathe, it feels like the world is caving in on him and the noise and light is just too much, everything’s swirling together like he’s trapped inside a kaleidoscope and he pushes his way towards the back door of the Musain, desperate for the cold rush of night air. He can’t let them see him like this, can’t let his friends know his weakest spot, the chink in his armor, his Achille’s heel. Blind and desperate, he crashes into someone’s chest, accidentally elbowing them in the solar plexus. 

“Hey.” 

Of course it’s Combeferre, just come in through the back door, smelling like cold night air and chimney smoke. The bespectacled med student rests both hands on Enjolras’ shoulders. 

“Enjolras, are you okay?”

And dear lord of course he’s not okay, he’s so far from being okay, he feels like he’s choking on the entire damned world right now, but he can’t get the words out (can’t even begin to describe it) and instead he just lets out a sort of strangled noise and shakes his head. 

“C’mere,” says Combeferre, and a pair of gentle hands are guiding him away from the light and noise and then he’s on the tiled floor of the bathroom, everything smelling vaguely of lysol. Combeferre sinks down next to him, still holding his shoulder. 

“Enjolras,” he says slowly, quietly. “Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?” 

_No I can’t tell you because I can’t even tell myself what’s wrong with me_. 

“Can’t––breathe––it’s––too––much,” Enjolras chokes out, and Combeferre nods.

“Okay. Enjolras, I want you to breathe with me. Is it okay if I touch you?” Enjolras nods and Combeferre takes one of his hands (and his touch is gentle, practiced) and guides it to his own chest. The world is warm and spinning and Enjolras can feel Combeferre’s chest moving up and down under his sweater, slow, even breaths. 

“Can you feel me breathing?” Combeferre asks, and he’s using his hospital voice, the voice he uses when he’s talking to frail old ladies and sick children and it’s so soft and comforting and Enjorlas thinks that Combeferre’s touch is the only thing holding him down right now and that if Combeferre lets go he will almost certainly drift away like a leaf on the wind. He can’t talk so he just nods and curls his fingers into the worn wool of Combeferre’s sweater. 

“In and out,” says Combeferre. “Just try to focus on breathing. In and out. In and out.” 

And slowly, Enjolras comes down, and the world begins to right itself, and he’s aware that he’s slumped on the dirty tile floor of the Musain’s one-stall bathroom with Combeferre. 

“You’re safe,” says Combeferre. “You’re here with me and you’re safe and I promise that you are going to be alright.” 

Enjolras can’t talk, not right now, so he just sort of collapses against Combeferre. Combeferre is soft and warm and he puts his arms around Enjolras and leans back against the wall. He gently pets Enjolras’ hair and slowly rubs his back and Enjolras just presses his face into Combeferre’s sweater and thinks _how lucky I am to have a friend like you._

“I’ll stay here for as long as you need me to,” Combeferre says, and Enjolras knows that he’s telling the truth, because Combeferre is honest and good and strong, so much stronger than he is (right now) and there is something safe in that, in having someone you can fall back against. He can’t really talk, so he just makes a mewling noise against Combeferre’s chest. He feels hands running up and down his back, gentle and soothing. 

“I know,” Combeferre tells him. Enjorlas doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. 

 


End file.
